In Sunday School yesterday we read about the day of Pentecost where Peter cited God’s promise that in the last days He would pour out his Spirit and the Saints would dream dreams.
The Lovely one and I garden every year, partly because we like it, partly because our parents always did it, and partly because our prophets recommend it (President Faust made a particular impression on us). We aren’t equal in our enthusiasm for all the commandments (she’s much more into searching Isaiah then I am, for instance), but we both like to garden.
This year in addition to everything else she experimented with a three-sisters garden, where you plant corn, greenbeans, and squash all mixed together in the pueblo style. She picked a spot of ground we haven’t used before and put a lot of work into it. Our little girls helped. There was a real excitement there. Their three-sisters garden was green and growing.
Then her pregnancy got complicated and our lives turned inward. We spent a couple of our gardening weekends at the hospital. She got put on bed rest. I was too busy to do all the loving work for it that she did. The weeds grew and bugs ate. The garden languished. We’ll get a handful of produce now, no more.
Her health and pregnancy have stabilized enough to spend an hour or two on the lawn chair under the elm while the girl play. She tries to avoid looking at her garden when she does. She gets frustrated.
Last night she dreamed that she was attending a workshop on growing greenbeans. The instructor talked about the importance of daily, assiduous work with the greenbeans, which was an exciting prospect in the dream. Then he gave her a single greenbean to try. It tasted amazing.
After she woke up she was mulling over the dream when the Spirit brought to her mind a phrase from Isaiah: the men of Judah are his pleasant plant. She was suddenly engulfed in the love of God.